


we wait through the hours of cold

by peajays



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, kenman if you squint, kenny gets shot, somebody save this boy, who could have guessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peajays/pseuds/peajays
Summary: "This would be easier, Cartman, if you let me die."Eric stiffens. His clammy fingers slip from the knot he's fixing. "No.""Asshat. Why not?""Because I'd feel like shit, Kenny!"





	we wait through the hours of cold

**Author's Note:**

> ben howard - promise
> 
> yo yo, i wrote this in one go while on a nine-hour drive, totally spontaneous  
> i've always hc'd that eric remembers every one of kenny's deaths - keep this in mind going into the fic because it makes a lot more sense if you think the way i do hahaha  
> also, this is sorta off-canon and just for fun  
> they're ~14 here

"Shut your whore mouth," says Kenny bitterly, hands balled up in Eric's coat.

Eric quips between giggles, "No, no, this is gold." He's got a roll of gauze secured around Kenny's left calf and a bloodied bullet in his pants pocket. Kenny had - predictably - brought his pocket-knife to what turned into a gunfight and was caught in the crossfire. But in his defense, he hadn't curled up in an alleyway, red-soaked and in pants-shitting pain, without a scuffle; there is a pool of blood in the street that, as Kenny was eager to boast, isn't his. Eric's bike is nearby, yellow paint tinted with flecks of red. Its front wheel cruised through the puddle and brought a trail into the alley.

Kenny shifts on his ass and barks out an offensive phrase. When he speaks to Eric, his throat feels gravelly. "This would be easier, Cartman, if you let me die."

Eric stiffens. His clammy fingers slip from the knot he's fixing. " _No._ "

"Asshat. Why not?"

"Because I'd feel like shit, Kenny!"

The blond, hair sweaty and matted to his forehead, jerks his leg away, a shout bitten back and rumbling in his throat. The noise is overshadowed by Cartman, loudly scolding Kenny with a familiar authoritative tone. He isn't taken seriously; his hands shake violently while they hunt through his first-aid kit and betray him. "You're not the motherfucker who _shot me,_ " argues Kenny, tearing at the cast around his calf. Eric grabs Kenny's wrists and holds him down, easily overpowering him. "I'd be the motherfucker who let my friend die." When Kenny relents he returns to the kit.

"Poor, sensitive Cartman. Suddenly cares whether his immortal pal croaks or not. Do I owe you something?" Before Kenny speaks again Eric socks him in the stomach, forcing nothing more than a choked breath.

His voice is low but strangely watery. "You can go home and blow your head off anytime, quick and easy, and you won't hear jack from me. But I'm not letting your dirty ass bleed out and rot here _in the street._ I hate your guts, McCormick, but you're my best fuckin' friend."

Kenny, who'd previously been kicking and scratching Cartman away, is now still. "Fuck you," he spits, crosses his arms. "Quit being _human,_ it isn't like you." Eric snorts at that, the sound of his kit clicking shut just audible over the rush of a car down the closest street.

"Just take my goddamn charity."

"I don't need it! I'll be back in six hours good as new. Piss off."

Eric lifts his hand abruptly, angered but not surprised when the blond doesn't even twitch. His knuckles collide with the brick wall, just next to Kenny's head. Cartman leans in and uses his arm as a support- he barely notices the sting as his fist scrapes and tears along the brick under his weight. "It's fucking death, Kenny. Shit is _excruciating._ You've got enough trash in your life that at least your deaths should be easy."

There's a pause.

Kenny chuckles to end it, but it sounds more like a rasp for breath. "I wish you were still that douche who laughed at poor Kenny's corpse 'cause he'd just show up fine tomorrow," he circles his fingers around Eric's forearm, "Remember that? Kyle would _whoop your ass._ Was great."

Cartman is reeling, as if Ken's soft, jovial words bit him. "I didn't tell you to get all wistful."

"You can't tell me to do shit," the gauze wrapped around Kenny is drenched in crimson. He experimentally lifts his leg and lets it crash back onto the pavement. Ken yelps - it putters off into laughter. One of Eric's large hands moves to Kenny's thigh, firmly keeping it in place. He doesn't find anything to say. His cut-up fist, smeared with blood and full of gravel, falls to the patch of weeds at the base of the wall. Kenny's hand follows and picks at the grass. Exhausted, Cartman rests his head on the blond's shoulder. He plays with the yarn pom-pom on Eric's old hat.

"Go home an' let it heal," He's whispering into the ratty fabric of Ken's jacket. "I already used that much stuff on you." Kenny sighs, this deliberate huff of warm air, eyes locked on his messy cast. It's not going to heal. They both know this.

They both know he'll die tonight.

Either out of respect for Kenny or for self-preservation, Cartman doesn't want to be around for it.

Ken mumbles, "Whatever," picks at the edge of the bandage much to Eric's disdain. The brunet at his side is drumming a melody into the back of Kenny's hand. He doesn't recognise it, but assumes it's a tune from the eighties. If he were interested in the song rather than how oddly comfortable Eric is touching him all over, he would ask for the title.

"Thanks." Says Cartman finally, as if it were a favor, and it sends something hot down Ken's spine. He enforces his indifference with another 'whatever' and shuts his eyes, head clunking against the wall when he leans back.

"I don't wanna see it." Eric thinks it's a great idea to continue speaking, voice frustratingly muffled into Ken's parka. Kenny understands how the other two feel trying to converse with him.

Kenny's laughing dryly, "you see fucked up things whenever your eyes close."

"I try to keep your fucked up things _out._ " His fingers have slid up the blond's wrist and are feeling his pulse. "You're the one asshole I know whose murder I _don't_ want to watch."

That's probably the sweetest thing Eric Cartman has ever said. His cadence is douche-y as always, familiar and nostalgic. It resonates well with and creates a flurry somewhere inside of Kenny. He takes Eric's hand in his.

"Queermo," he snips, dozing off toward emptiness. The void is warm this time.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first published work, so tell me what you think  
> i eat criticism for breakfast


End file.
